


Chicken Soup

by omphale23



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gen, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon doesn't answer the door on Tuesday morning. He hears the knocking, and he knows he should get up, but his head's on fire and his hands are shaky and he's not sure, but he thinks his feet may have frozen and fallen off in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phineas_jones](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=phineas_jones).



Brendon doesn't answer the door on Tuesday morning. He hears the knocking, and he knows he should get up, but his head's on fire and his hands are shaky and he's not sure, but he thinks his feet may have frozen and fallen off in the middle of the night.

He sticks his head back under the pillow instead, but then he really can't breathe and it's stuffy and hot and he can't believe he's wrapped in all these covers. So he rolls over and throws them on the floor and tries to lay there without any part of him touching the other parts, until he dozes back off and wakes up shivering.

Somebody's knocking again, and Brendon sort of moans at the noise. Shane's touring, the bastard, and just as Brendon's wondering if it would be too pathetic to roll out of bed and crawl over, he hears a key in the lock.

He'd wave, but when Spencer sticks his head around the bedroom door, Brendon's arms are too heavy to move. Really, they are. Not that he tried, but they would be.

Spencer sort of grimaces, which might be because Brendon's pretty sure the last time he showered was Saturday night, before they went out. Or possibly Friday? He doesn't say anything, though, just picks his way past the pile of bedding and shoes and sits down on the edge of the bed.

His fingers are cool against Brendon's forehead, and Brendon's eyes slide shut again completely without his permission.

The next time he opens them, the apartment smells like tomatoes and oregano and it's really sort of cool, because it's been a couple of days since Brendon's eaten and he's not really hungry, but it smells like Christmas and home and by the time Spencer comes in, carrying a cookie sheet with a bowl and a mug of something steaming on it, Brendon's almost sitting up. Almost.

He's sitting up enough that when Spencer sets the cookie sheet down, Brendon only has to bat his eyes a little to get the spoon from him. And he's perfectly well able to feed himself, except he maybe forgot about the hands shaking part and spills soup on his chest.

After that, he only gets to open his mouth and swallow. Spencer lets him hold the mug of lemon and honey, though. Once it's half empty. He doesn't even laugh when Brendon gets his nose too close and inhales a little by accident.

When Brendon falls back asleep, Spencer is sitting next to him in the bed, reading a book and letting Brendon curl into his side, listening.


End file.
